<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>open up the tired eyes by mrgay</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27425662">open up the tired eyes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrgay/pseuds/mrgay'>mrgay</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mikey and Nicky (1976)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, they are dumb homos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:13:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,678</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27425662</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrgay/pseuds/mrgay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikey waits all day for Nicky to call.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mikey/Nicky, nicky godalin/mikey mittner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>open up the tired eyes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>The rims of his eyelids were burning. A blow received straightens a man up and makes the body move forward, to return that blow, or a punch-to jump, to get a hard-on, to dance: to be alive. But a blow received may also cause you to bend over, to shake, to fall down, to die. When we see life, we call it beautiful. When we see death, we call it ugly. But it is more beautiful still to see oneself living at great speed, right up to the moment of death. Detectives, poets, domestic servants and priests rely on abjection. From it, they draw their power. It circulates in their veins. It nourishes them.</em>
</p><p>– Jean Genet, from <em>Querelle of Brest</em></p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mikey waits all day for Nicky to call him, fidgeting and pacing from the phone to the kitchen to fix another cup of coffee (his fifth today). The irony is, nothing is even wrong–<em>That I know of</em>–Mikey just wants to hear Nick’s Long Island drawl, ask him about his day, and feel wanted. Annie and the kid were visiting Bubbe and Zayde upstate until some heat had subsided, so Mikey was alone with his now angry wasp nest of a mental state. This has been his routine for days now; Mikey is always careful not to call too much, not to seem too eager to hang out one-on-one–<em>We both have families for Chrissakes</em>–but he always ends up wasting his whole day worrying about the man anyway. Nicky never called unless the world was ending.</p><p> </p><p><br/>
***</p><p> </p><p><br/>
“Mikey, remember when Izzy was still alive?”</p><p>“Of course I do,”</p><p>Nick’s holed up in a dingy hotel; his typical foxhole for when he and Jan have had a fight, or when he needs to wait for some heat to pass. Mikey brings cigarettes and beer. There are no chairs, nowhere to sit other than on the musty old cot under the window. They sit next to each other on the water damaged floor, sharing a dart.</p><p>“Remember how we’d go catch frogs at Haney pond and show them to Izzy?”</p><p>“That kid loved animals,” a smile sneaks through Mikey’s voice.</p><p>“We caught two frogs,” Nick continues, “I named mine Butch and you named yours Flash Gordon. Remember when we put them in the same jar and they wouldn’t stop fucking?”</p><p>Mikey gives a weak guffaw, “Christ, Nick, why are you bringing this up?”</p><p>“Izzy made us have a wedding for them. He officiated it; he said they were in love. I tried to rename Flash to Debbie because I figured it must have been a girl frog, and you and Izzy got mad at me.”</p><p>“It was stupid, we were kids–Nick, why are you bringing this up?”</p><p>Silence. Nick looks at Mikey expectantly, the kind of look he always gives him when he wants Mikey to finish his sentences.</p><p>Mikey sighs, “I loved that kid. Loved him to bits, when he was sick. Boy, he was sick. I did anything he wanted to keep him happy. I wanted him to be happy up until he died.”</p><p>“Mike. If you were a woman, do you think we would have gotten married?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“If you were a girl, Mikey, I think you’d make a very cute girl.”</p><p>“What does that have to do with anything, Nick?”</p><p>“It doesn’t have anything to do with anything, I just wanna know, do you think we would have?”</p><p>“What, like I'm a queer or something?” as soon as Mikey says this he feels stupid.</p><p>Nicky closes his eyes, irritated, “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it, I mean, would we have gotten married.”</p><p>“Nick, what are you getting at? What do you want me to say?”</p><p>“I think you’d have made a very cute little Jewish girl.”</p><p>“Nick. Nicky,” they are sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, Mikey turns to face Nick, he places a hand on his friend’s, and notices how large Nicky’s hand looks compared to his, “I have no idea what you’re getting at, but I think I would make a very ugly woman, and I know how you treat women, Nick.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t treat you bad, Mikey,” for a moment Nicky almost sounds sentimental, Mikey can’t tell if he’s doing a “bit” like usually he does when he gets like this, “The point is… don’t you think life would be better if things were different?”</p><p>“Nick, for Chrissakes…” Mikey takes his hand away and hastily massages the bridge of his nose.</p><p>“No, no, listen!” Nick grabs Mikey’s hand away from his face and clasps it like a precious thing, “Life has a funny way of getting to my head, Mikey. I know I’m a shit husband to Jan, I know it. I feel like I’m in a cage.”</p><p>“Annie and I have a great marriage.” Mikey says woodenly.</p><p>Nicky ignores him, “I feel like since Izzy died there’s been a voice in my head telling me how to live, how to treat people, how to dress, when to shave–do you have a voice Mike? Telling you things?”</p><p>“Like a conscience? That’s a conscience, Nick.”</p><p>“No it’s not. Someone put it there.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“I don’t know. My dad, my mother–bless her soul–boys at school, television. It’s funny how people end up the way other people tell them to act.”</p><p>Nicky is still holding Mikey’s hand.</p><p>“It’s like a poison.”</p><p>Mikey just looks at him.</p><p>“Annie and I have a great marriage,” Mikey says again, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re getting at. I have a good life, I have a family; a house.”</p><p>“We didn’t want any of that growing up, that’s what I’m saying! We didn’t have any preconceived ideas of what we were supposed to do, we just did things. You understand?” Nicky is shaking, “All we ever needed was each other, you understand?” Nicky’s clutching at Mikey’s shirt now, close enough that he can smell the man’s cold sweat.</p><p>“We’re not kids, Nick, c’mon, you’re getting upset…”</p><p>“When I’m like this, I can’t move, I feel like everything I know about life is gone. I can’t move like this. Grow up, get the girl, fuck the girl, have kids, fight and fuck–” Nicky grimaces, going wide eyed, working himself up into a panic, “–drink, get a job, drink on weekends. Get fucked up. Get angry. Get so piss drunk and angry I can’t speak–”</p><p>“Hey–hey now,” Mikey grabs Nicky’s face with both hands and pulls him close.</p><p>“When I stop, it’s like I’m nothing,” Nick whispers into Mikey’s collar, he buries his face in his friend’s neck like a little animal, and heaves a weak sob, “You know, if I were a girl, I’d hate me.”</p><p>“What’s all this about if we were women, anyway?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Nicky sighs and looks up at Mikey, his eyes are wet, as is the edge of Mikey’s collar, “I just think about if I were different, if I were a woman, or if I were born in a different country, or if I only had one eye; would I really be me? Or would I be someone else.”</p><p>“Like nature versus nurture?”</p><p>“I guess so.”</p><p>Nicky leans in abruptly and kisses Mikey on the mouth, then pulls back to observe. Mikey, reflexively, like he'd just been hit, touches the spot on his mouth with his fingers.</p><p>“Mikey.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Kiss me, you faggot,”</p><p>
  <em>“What?”</em>
</p><p>“Kiss me back, you fairy!”</p><p>“I’m the faggot? You’re the one kissing men suddenly–” Nicky’s kissing him again, and Mikey tries to kiss back this time, but he feels like he’s falling down a hill. Hands fumble to hold the other’s face, and for a moment they pull back and both sit perfectly still, staring at each other, panting like dogs. Nicky is smiling like a maniac, lips visibly wet with traces of Mikey.</p><p>"You taste like that gelusil," Mikey murmurs, his voice rough from all the cigarettes and coffee. Nicky laughs weakly.</p><p>"Chew up another one and spit it into my mouth."</p><p>“No, I’m not gonna chew one up and spit it in your mouth!” Mikey retorts hotly, but he’s still giggling. Nicky bumps foreheads with him.</p><p>“You’re a handsome son-of-a-bitch, you know that?” Nicky says, eyelids drooping, clearly ogling Mikey close-up.</p><p>“If you’re buttering me up so I’ll spit in your mouth, you can forget it.” Mikey gives him a shove.</p><p>“Come on! I’m a little baby bird and I’m gonna die!” Nicky shouts, eyes going wide with theatrics, throwing his arms up like pitiful wings.</p><p>“Nick, it’s midnight, you’re gonna wake someone up–” Mikey is giggling and trying to grab Nicky’s shirt to pull him in for a proper kiss.</p><p>“I’m a little baby bird, Mikey, what are ya gonna do? I’m gonna die if you don’t take care of–mmf” Mikey interrupts him with a sweet kiss on the mouth, and just for a moment Nicky relents, before plucking the half-eaten stick of antacid tablets from his friend’s jacket pocket.</p><p>“I wanna have a drink.”</p><p> </p><p><br/>
 ***</p><p> </p><p><br/>
“Rub my neck,” Nicky says, bowing his head towards him like a horse, breath sour with liquor.</p><p>Mikey hesitates but Nick leans in closer, “It helps–”</p><p>“–With your stomach? That’s bullshit, Nick.”</p><p>Mikey can feel the heat radiating off of Nicky’s heavy hands on his shoulders.</p><p>“I don’t need your professional opinion, baby, just give me a neck massage, won’t you?”</p><p>Mikey closes his eyes, "Nick… C'mere…" Nicky is handsy—physically and verbally—when he’s drunk, and awfully persuasive with the look he's currently giving Mikey. Nicky places Mikey’s hands so they are cradling his neck, as if he were wishing to be strangled. Mikey instead sneaks his hands through his friend’s greying hair and gently kneads the base of Nicky's skull with the pads of his fingers.</p><p>Nicky’s got his forehead resting against Mikey's shoulder now, as he massages the base of the man’s neck. Gently, Mikey presses his thumbs to Nicky’s unshaven jaw, feeling the tension, raw and awake like a live wire. <em>Always so wound up, it’s gonna kill you someday.</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>